


don't let me get me

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dad!Tony, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Self-Hatred, author is projecting again woo, tony is so soft and kind and gentle and god i need me a tony ya feel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: He picks up his phone and sends a quick text. "hey, happy! i’m not feeling too hot today, so i think i’m gonna have to cancel. tell mr. stark i’m sorry!"He stares at his phone, waiting for a response. It never comes, and Peter sighs sadly. There was a part of him, a small part, that really hoped he was wrong. His insides burn, and he curls up tighter into a ball and turns off his phone.(No one’s going to try to contact him anyway.)orAnxiety has a way of convincing Peter that everyone hates him. Tony has a way of proving him wrong.





	don't let me get me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Don't Let Me Get Me" by P!nk
> 
> All my love to @underoosstark and @tamaranianprincess. I owe you guys so much for putting up with me.

Peter has a penchant for overthinking just about everything.

For him, it starts with a change in punctuation. Ned, as enthusiastic as he is, always texts with an overabundance of exclamation points. Other people might find it a little annoying, but Peter mostly just finds it endearing.

Right before he heads into his last class, Peter shoots Ned a quick text asking if they’re still good to hang out after Decathlon, and Ned responds with,  _Yeah._ So, naturally, Peter panics.

 _are you okay?,_ he types as he takes a seat. He taps his foot, suddenly anxious. Peter curses the generational notion that “periods = anger” when it comes to texting. He’s gotten used to it with adults, but with his friends? It’s different.

It’s not until halfway through the class that his screen lights up with another text from Ned.  _It’s all good._ Peter’s stomach churns, and he gets the distinct impression that it’s  _not_ all good.

 _Don’t be silly, Parker,_ he chides himself.  _You’re way overthinking this._

He takes a few deep breaths and tries to focus on the phylogeny of vertebrates. By the end of class, he’s pretty much decided that he is, as usual, overthinking everything, especially considering Ned has Physics for his last class, which is enough to stress anyone out. Peter figures he’ll get to Decathlon and see that everything’s fine.

The bell rings, and Peter sighs in relief. He enjoys biology, but the cellular side is much more fascinating to him than the big-scale stuff. He quickly gathers up his materials and makes his way to his locker, pausing when his phone starts buzzing with a call.

“Oh, hey, Happy!” Peter greets enthusiastically. “I don’t have the internship today - that’s tomorrow.”

“You think I don’t know that?” It’s not said sharply, but it still stings a little bit. Peter swallows thickly as the nervousness from before reappears with a vengeance. “That’s why I’m calling, kid. Boss wanted me to tell you he can’t meet tomorrow. He got called in for an emergency meeting in Tokyo.”

Peter’s heart stutters a little in disappointment. He practically lives for internship days and weekends. “O-Oh. That’s - perfectly understandable.”

Something, an insecurity imbedded deep into his DNA, roars to life.  _Maybe people just don’t like you, Peter._   _Ned doesn’t want to hang out with you and Mr. Stark doesn’t want to you over and -_

 _“_ Kid?” Happy snaps impatiently. “You hear what I said? Be ready for me to pick you up at eight Saturday morning.” There’s a click at the end of the line, and then there’s nothing.

 _-and Happy hates always having to babysit you,_ Peter’s mind finishes for him. He nearly growls in frustration. He  _knows_ this is anxiety talking. He knows this. He recognizes this.

But it doesn’t change how it corrodes at him from the inside.

Peter tries to file it away. Happy is always gruff. This isn’t anything new, isn’t some sort of spontaneous disliking.

When Peter gets to Decathlon, Ned quickly ambles over to him, and Peter inwardly collapses with relief. In his head, he’d imagined that Ned wouldn’t even talk to him.

“Hey, man!” Ned greets. “So, I really hate to cancel on you, but Cato assigned us so much homework tonight, plus we have that Lit test tomorrow.”

Peter tries to keep the crestfallen look off his face. “Oh. Right, yeah. I mean, we could study together?” he offers. Ned just looks at him, and Peter knows he’s trying to figure out how best to let him down. Ned won’t say no, so Peter will have to do it for him. “Yeah, I guess that’s not a great idea. We can try for this weekend, yeah?”

Ned nods, and Peter thinks,  _I deserve this anyway. The amount of times I’ve stood him up..._

The rest of Decathlon practice is spent with his stomach in anxious knots, his brain trying to convince him that every look sent in his direction is a glare, every word spoken sharply.  _You’re being stupid,_ he tries to tell himself.

( _Hey, Peter. Remember the last time someone left you? Remember when they realized how stupid and annoying and dorky you are and how you can’t shut up about Star Wars and how you double triple quadruple texted them over and over and finally they realized you’re the terrible person you know you are, so they cut you out of their life without a word? That’s going to happen again. You realize that, right? You realize that people hate you once they get to know you?)_

A choking, acidic feeling crawls up from inside his chest and wraps itself around his throat, an unwelcome and terribly familiar feeling.

At one point, MJ calls his name to get his attention, and the way everyone’s gaze swings to him almost reduces him to tears. Jesus Christ.

When practice is over, he grabs his bag and makes the trek home without a word to either Ned or MJ. A part of him feels bad - they don’t deserve the treatment - but another bitter part of him can’t help but think that’s probably what they  _want._

He scrapes a hand down his face and hates that anxiety makes him so goddamn  _dramatic._ It’s pathetic. He’s overreacting. He’s stressed because school and the internship and Spider-Man, and his brain is just releasing pent-up anxiety.

People don’t hate him.

(He hates him.)

When he opens the door to his apartment and finds the note left on the table for him -  _Hey, baby, I got called in for the night shift. Here’s some money for dinner. I love you! -_ Peter just sighs and goes up to his room.

Figures.

* * *

By the time Saturday morning’s rolled around, Peter is pretty sure he’s made of anxiety. He feels sick to his stomach. Ned’s barely talking to him, and he says he’s just stressed and tired, but what if he’s not? What if it’s just an excuse to not talk to Peter, a way to get back at Peter for being such a shitty friend, and -

May keeps working late shifts, because the flu is going around and it’s pretty bad this year. He hasn’t heard from Tony or Happy, but that’s nothing new.

 _Why do you think that is, Peter?_ a voice in his head says scathingly. He looks at the time and realizes he only has an hour before Happy comes to pick him up. Peter sighs, curling up in his bed in an attempt to stifle the self-loathing that keeps coursing through his veins.

 _If only I were_ different.  _Normal. Better._

He picks up his phone.  _hey, happy! i’m not feeling too hot today, so i think i’m gonna have to cancel. tell mr. stark i’m sorry!_

He stares at his phone, waiting for a response. It never comes, and Peter sighs sadly. There was a part of him, a small part, that really hoped he was wrong. His insides burn, and he curls up tighter into a ball and turns off his phone.

(No one’s going to try to contact him anyway.)

* * *

He wakes up to insistent knocking on the door. Immediately on alert, Peter swings his comforter off and tiptoes out of his room, sliding his web shooters on for good measure.

The knocking persists as Peter makes his way to the door, and he quickly opens it to put a stop to the offending noise. The door swings open, and Peter blinks in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

Tony sighs, and holds up a container. “Not really the greeting I was expecting but - soup. Courtesy of Pepper, obviously,” Tony says, pushing past the kid. He turns and narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “Though I’m not sure you need it. You look fine.”

“My head hurts,” Peter says flatly, hating that his hands are already fidgeting at his sides.

“Uh huh.” Tony gives him a considering look. “You know, I feel like I distinctly remember you showing up to my lab with a ruptured appendix one time.”

Peter laughs nervously. “That’s, uh... Wow, I remember that. Crazy. Good thing I got myself some self-preservation. If anything, you should be proud of me. Character development and all that.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, eyes sparkling with amusement as he sets the container of soup on the counter and crosses his arms.

“Character development,” he repeats dryly before shaking his head with a laugh. “You really are something, kid.” He leans against the counter and fixes Peter with his trademark Look. “So are you gonna tell me why you  _really_ cancelled on me, or am I going to have to guess?”

“I was just wasn’t feeling great,” Peter says defensively. And, technically, it’s not even a lie. He feels like shit.

Tony sighs. “Guessing game it is. Did May ban you from coming over?”

“What?” Peter says indignantly. “Of course not.”

Tony raises his hands. “Okay okay, I mean, it wouldn’t be that surprising. Does this having something to do with me cancelling on Thursday?”

Peter shakes his head, even as his heart pounds in his chest.  _He’s going to think I’m fucking stupid. God, why is he even here? He hates me. I wish he’d just straight up tell me he wants to be done, I wish everyone would just do that, so I wouldn’t have to -_

 _“_ Ah, so it  _does_ have to do with that,” Tony murmurs, studying the kid closely. He doesn’t like the look on the teen’s face - it’s one Tony’s worn far too many times not to be familiar with it. “I would have let you know sooner, kid, but it was pretty last minute.”

Peter nods, face flushing red with embarrassment.  _Stupid stupid stupid._ Tony scrutinizes him for another moment, trying to connect the dots.

“What, did you think it was meant as a vacation from babysitting the spider-kid?” Tony jokes. Peter swallows at looks down at that, and Tony gives him an incredulous look, realization dawning on him.

“Peter.  _Kid._ ” When the kid doesn’t look up, Tony pushes off the counter and stops in front of him, carefully placing a finger under his chin and tilting his face up. “Look at me.”

Peter’s eyes are already red, and Tony furrows his brows. “Where is this coming from?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak but snaps it shut again before looking away. “It’s stupid,” he mumbles.

“Not if it’s got you lying and cancelling on me,” Tony counters pointedly, and Peter wrings his hands anxiously.

“I - I just didn’t think you and Happy liked me anymore,” Peter whispers quietly, hating how elementary he sounds, and Tony can’t help the confusion running through him. He thought he’d been doing better at being more present and involved in the kid’s life.

“What makes you think that?” Tony asks, trying to understand where this is coming from.

“People don’t like me,” Peter mumbles, staring at the ground. “I - they always think they do, and then they get to know me and they always regret it.” He looks up at Tony, then, a heartbroken look in his tear-filled eyes. “They  _always_ regret it.”

“Whoa, whoa - first of all,  _no_ ,” Tony counters quickly. “That sounds a lot like anxiety speaking. Especially because I do  _not_ regret meeting you.”

Peter inhales shakily, a wounded look on his face, like he wants so desperately to believe Tony but can’t. “What happened, Peter?” Tony asks. It’s been awhile since he’s seen Peter like this. “What happened to set this off?”

“It’s so fucking stupid,” he chokes out in frustration, voice dripping with a self-hatred that pierces straight through Tony’s chest. “I just - Ned’s acting - it’s - the way he texts is off and - and MJ looks at me, and Happy he - he  _hates_ babysitting me, and May just - and then you - you -” Peter cuts off, a whine working its way through his lips.

Tony doesn’t waste any time before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around the shaking kid, pulling his close and squeezing tight. Tony can hear his breathes hitching uncontrollably, and he rubs Peter’s back soothingly.

“I  _hate -_ Tony, I hate -” Peter gasps, and Tony shushes him gently before pulling away and kneeling in front of him, looking the kid straight in the eyes.

“Peter, listen to me,” Tony says firmly but gently. “This is anxiety talking. Anxiety. Has Ned said he’s mad at you?”

Peter swipes at his eyes and shakes his head. “No, but he seems -”

“You’re more quiet when you have a test coming up. You stutter more when you’re anxious, and you talk fast when you’re excited,” Tony tells him. “Peter, you can’t assume every voice inflection and period in a sentence is irritation at you. That’s going to destroy you. Do you understand?”

Peter bites his lip, trying to keep himself from voicing his worst fears. But it bubbles up from his stomach and races up his throat, acidic and hot and raw, and pries itself through his lips.

“But what if I’m  _right?”_ he whispers, voice cracking on the word, and Tony cups his cheek.

“ _If_ you’re right,” Tony says, “then that’s their loss. But let me tell you what you’re wrong about.”

He takes a moment to make sure Peter is looking right at him and listening closely. Tony swipes a thumb over the kid’s cheek to brush away a stray tear.

“May loves the hell out of you. And Happy doesn’t show it much, but he does, too. And - come here,” Tony commands, pulling him carefully into another embrace. He wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulder and rests his other hand in the soft curls.

“There is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you. If anyone leaves you,” Tony says fiercely, “I promise you’ll still have me. You’re the best of all of us. You understand me?”

Peter nods, body heaving from the effort of forcing himself not to cry, and Tony sighs sadly.

Peter, he knows, doesn’t understand yet. But Tony’s in this for the long haul, and he’ll say it everyday until the kid believes him.

One day, Peter will.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, it's been five years since the most important person in my life left me. She just. Her texting was off for awhile, and I kept - I just. I guess I messed up. And then she ghosted me. For forever. So now I spend all my life being scared of people, haha. This fic was a long time coming. Does anyone else get extremely anxious when people's texting is off?
> 
> I haven't read through this even once to edit because I'll cry lmao. But yeah, thank you for reading. Comments/kudos are super appreciated. Feel free to talk to me on tumblr @the-great-escapism.


End file.
